Why was he angry with this man? Why did he hate him? The questions, along with the confusion that it raised, dissolved just as quickly as the man reached out to tap Alex on the shoulder.
Tap, tap, tap. He relaxed. He didn’t know why, but he felt as though he could trust this man.
“Can you read Tenwick’s correspondence?”
“No.” Alex frowned. Hadn’t he just said that? “Tenwick distrusts me. He doesn’t leave me unsupervised in his townhouse.”
The man seemed agitated. Not much light stretched into the alcove, but enough to illuminate the curl of the man’s dark hair over his forehead, at the same level as Alex’s. The other man’s eyebrows pulled together in annoyance.
“Can you arrange a distraction and read it, then?”
“Yes…” Alex drew out the word. “But I wouldn’t have long, and if Tenwick happened to leave me alone, he might suspect. He might even catch me in the act. You said—”
“For no one to discover what you were about.” The other man sounded disgusted. “Yes, I recall.” He turned and paced. His obvious distress over Alex’s performance made Alex tense.
He had done as the man had requested—or tried. He had listened, and obeyed.
The tension in his body uncovered a new question, like sand blowing away from a treasure beneath.
Why? Why did he listen? Why obey?
As the man opposite him turned and paced back, he laid a hand on Alex’s shoulder. The question melted away. The man fiddled with a coin, a nervous habit. Nervous for the man, but soothing for Alex. The play of light on the silver coin reminded him of sunlight on a pond. He’d used to play in a pond near his family’s ancestral estate. He and his brother as boys, splashing through the water, laughing.
The memory slowly faded as the man stopped playing with the coin, but the feeling of peace remained. He listened. He waited to obey.
The man squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “You’re going to do something else for me. You’re going to renew your association with Lucy Graylocke.”
“But she will—”
What? What would she do? He had the words, there on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t remember them. Couldn’t form them.
“She will trust you,” the man said. His voice was low and soothing. “You will make her trust you. You’ve done it once before. And when you’re certain that she’ll do what you ask, I want you to bring her to meet me. She is the only one who has not succumbed to my mind manipulations. The only one to truly be able to identify me… and I can’t let that go on unchecked. I must make sure she is silenced. Do you understand?”
He understood. In the back of his mind, there was an ugly shadow of doubt, but it was twisted into a knot and he couldn’t read why he ought to be concerned over this command. But somewhere in his heart, a sharp pain was growing along with the doubt. As the man tapped Alex on the shoulder, the pain and the doubt tumbled away. Out of sight, out of mind.
Alex nodded and stepped back. “Yes, Monsieur. I will bring Lady Lucy to meet you.”
“Good. Then go inside and finish your assignment.”
Alex obeyed without question.
29
Lucy had never felt more exhausted in her life. She dragged her feet as she climbed the stairs to the third floor of the Tenwick townhouse, where her bedroom resided. Why did her brother have to insist that she attend every soiree for which she received an invitation? It was tiresome. The same faces, the same conversation, the same bland expression covering a vulture’s instincts beneath.
The gossips circled her, trying to wring some tidbit of information about Alex from her. They poked at her, informing her of such a scandalous activity he’d been at last week or with which mistress. Maintaining her composure drained her.
As she reached the top of the stairs, Charlie caught her elbow. “Are you all right?”
No. Lucy couldn’t even form a smile. She rubbed at her eyes. “I’m tired,” she answered truthfully. “I’m going to work on my book.”
“Really? You haven’t been yourself lately. I know these soirees are tedious but we used to have so much fun. What’s going on?”
Lucy felt a pang of guilt. In the past couple weeks, since Alex had spurned her, the only thing she’d been able to think about, the only thing she could think about, was her book. She’d rewritten it, added in a scoundrel who was the epitome of temptation.
Dealing with such a man had added depth to the heroine. She’d changed, seen the world less in terms of black and white, learned about redemption and forgiveness. Now, Lucy was at an impasse. The ending she had for the book didn’t feel right. It suited the old heroine better. The new one couldn’t carry on as if she hadn’t changed. She had.
But Lucy didn’t know what to do about it. Nothing fit, unless she gave the heroine a happy ending with the scoundrel. After the way he betrayed the heroine during the book, Lucy didn’t see how any reader would find that to be a satisfying ending. He couldn’t be forgiven. Not even if he crawled back to the heroine and begged for forgiveness on his hands and knees.
Not that the character would do that. He was a scoundrel, after all. He didn’t care about anything but his own goals and motivations. If he crawled back into the heroine’s life, she would be suspicious and wonder what he could possibly want from her this time. But would she still succumb to temptation?
It didn’t matter. Lucy wasn’t going to write that. She didn’t see how it could possibly work its way to a satisfying ending.
Wearily, she asked Charlie, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m having trouble with a part of my book.”
Charlie dropped her hand from Lucy’s arm and said gently, “Well, don’t spend all night at it. You need your rest. And you’ve been spending every waking hour on that book. I miss spending time with you. So does Antonia.”
“Antonia would rather fly around the house.”
Charlie sighed. “Get some rest?” she pleaded. “You’re making yourself sick over this book. Maybe the answer will become clear if you just take a moment to step away from it.”
Lucy didn’t want to do that. If she stopped thinking about her book, then she would have to start thinking about her life. How Alex had fooled her. How she’d been so blind as to his true feelings of indifference toward her.
He said he cared…
She was heartbroken, and she didn’t want to be. She wouldn’t let any man do that to her again. But she needed to focus on something, and that something was her book. She was so close to finishing it. All she needed was a little more time—and to solve this one last problem.
Somehow, she found the energy to force a smile. “I won’t work on my book tonight,” she lied. “I’ll go straight to bed and get some rest. You’re right, I am tired, and making myself sick won’t help me.”
Charlie looked dubious, but she nodded and stepped away. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast?”
“Of course.” Where else did she expect Lucy to eat? “Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
They parted ways. Lucy entered her bedchamber to find that someone had already lit a candle. That somebody was likely the man sitting at her writing desk, sifting through the pile of papers that was the wreck of her story. For a moment, she wondered if the scoundrel had stepped right out of her story.
He looked as handsome as she’d remembered. She’d seen Alex, once or twice from afar, but hadn’t spoken with him since he’d cast her off. The candlelight burnished his reddish hair with strands of gold. The shadows it cast caressed the seductive curve of his mouth. He leaned back against the chair as she entered.
“Shut the door, love.”
She shouldn’t. She should call out. The Vales or the servants would be here within seconds to remove him. Instead, her hand trembling, she obeyed. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not physically, at least.
He looked good. Too good. She felt like a mess without him—pouring all her time and energy into writing her book so she wouldn’t have to think
about how she missed him. How he’d broken her heart with what he’d done. He’d fooled her. She felt like a gullible child.
She probably looked like a shipwreck. The cosmetics she’d applied before the soiree would likely have worn off, leaving the rings around her eyes and the other telltale signs of her exhaustion. Charlie was right; she was pushing herself so hard to complete her book that she was making herself sick. Even knowing it couldn’t prevent her from doing it. It was the only way she knew of to distract herself from thoughts about Alex.
And now he was back, without warning. What did he want from her this time?
She rubbed her eyes, surprised when they weren’t wet. Apparently, she was too fatigued to cry.
“What information do you want this time?”
He stared at her for a moment, his expression impassive. Whether a trick of the light or a willful act of concealment, she couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. It was as though he’d drawn a mask of composure across his face. He made no move to rise.
“I’ve been an idiot.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She clenched her hands in front of her and pressed her lips together.
“When I thought of the future, what you meant to me, I got frightened. I said what I needed to in order to drive you away.”
He didn’t sound frightened. He sounded…matter-of-fact. Distant, perhaps even a little cold, as if he recited a speech he’d rehearsed a hundred times. It lacked all emotion. It intrigued her. Just what was he up to?
She crossed her arms, hugging herself as she leaned back against the door. “Congratulations, your brilliant plan worked.”
“No, it didn’t.”
When he stood, she couldn’t help but find her gaze drawn to his muscular legs, encased in black breeches. The cut of his jacket accentuated his form. Especially his arms. She recalled too well what his arms had felt like surrounding her. She bit her lower lip and counted the stitches on the toe of her shoe.
Alex stepped closer, until his black boots came into view an inch away from her toes. The heat and solid presence of his body awakened her senses. Her breathing quickened and she hated herself for it.
“I didn’t realize then how much I needed you in my life. I do. I need you, Lucy.”
He spoke the words she wanted to hear. These, too, sounded rehearsed, almost deadened. Did she trust him?
She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. She lifted her gaze to meet his. Did he mean it? Could he mean it? If he didn’t… It would only hurt her again.
She tried to find the truth in his eyes, but she didn’t see anything in them. It was as if the door to his heart was closed. Was this some sort of trick? But to what end?
“I’m angry with you,” she admitted. “You broke my heart.”
“Forgive me.”
His voice was so soft, she scarcely heard.
“It wasn’t my intention.”
Yes, it was. He’d just admitted that he was trying to drive her away. And why—because he was scared? She didn’t know if she could forgive him for that… unless there was another reason.
“What are you so frightened of? Me? My brothers?”
When she tilted her face up to meet his gaze, he turned away and paced the length of the room. He stopped across from it with his back to her. “All of it, I suppose.” His voice was leaden. “I’ve never had a woman in my life the way you were. Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have acted that way. I want you back in my life, Lucy. It isn’t the same without you.”
Another wooden delivery. Had he rehearsed saying that as well? Part of her desperately wanted to believe him, but the other part would not be played for a fool again.
She studied him in the dim light. This was not the Alex she had come to know. In fact, he’d changed ever since he’d gone missing. Since she’d found his ring at the address linked to Monsieur V. Was Monsieur V at the root of his odd behavior?
Her mother’s words came back to her. Was there a deeper reason that Alex had tossed her aside? Something that had nothing to do with what she knew they’d felt for each other. Something that might be dangerous, but also might shed light on the truth that she knew was buried somewhere under the surface. Was it worth finding out more?
Maybe it would be smart for her to play along, to see what he was up to. And maybe if she did, she’d find a clue to what her fictional heroine would do and finally be able to finish the book.
Making her decision, she crossed to him and laid her hand on his back. His muscles were as stiff as she expected. He held himself relaxed, casual. How did he manage that? She felt as though the tension would snap her in half.
Turning, he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Let me make it up to you, please.” His gaze was downcast. He still didn’t release her hand.
“Very well. What did you have in mind?”
Nothing less than loving you for the rest of your days. Those romantic words, and others, flitted through her mind as possibilities. Perhaps that was what the scoundrel in her book had to say in order to convince the heroine to forgive him.
Alex, on the other hand, said something different. “Come with me. I’ve parked my phaeton in the livery down the street. I’ll fetch it. I have something I want to show you, to make up for my absence.”
It wasn’t terribly late. She and Charlie had left the soiree early, just after midnight. Lucy nibbled on her lip as she fought to make a decision. It would ruin her reputation to be seen out alone with him at night, but the request was so odd and the way he was acting so strange, her curiosity got the better of her. Warning thoughts of Monsieur V flashed in her head.
Was Monsieur V still after her? Was there still a chance to capture him? If Morgan was telling the truth, no one in the spy network had discovered any messages meant for her. No one had been able to find his location, either. He’d slipped away into the wind, as he had months ago.
He’d been so close. If she and Alex had only worked together…
She stifled a sigh. He’d said Monsieur V hadn’t been at that location, nor had the person intended to receive the package. Morgan and his spies had searched the house as well. She didn’t think they would have found any clues that she’d missed, given the depth of her search, but knowing him he would have attempted it in any case.
To be truthful, she didn’t want to help anymore. She only wanted to be left in peace to write her book. If she left with Alex, maybe the inspiration would come. She sensed there was more to his invitation. At the very least, she might gain a new experience for her book.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He kissed her fingertips, ducking his head over them. “It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise. Will you come with me?”
He still sounded wooden, his words rehearsed. How long had it taken him to work up the courage to come here?
Curiosity won out and she nodded. “Very well, I’ll come. Bring ’round the phaeton and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
At this hour, the streets of London were all but devoid of traffic. Alex gave the ribbons an idle flick, turning the matched bays down a different street. Lucy sat beside him, silent. She was wrapped in her pelisse and nibbling on her lip.
Convincing her to leave with him had been easier than he’d expected. All it had taken was a kiss and a profession of his desire for her. Dimly, he questioned whether she truly had forgiven him for his transgression or if she was only playing along out of curiosity. It didn’t much matter. Soon, she would be in Monsieur V’s care. That had been what she’d wanted all along, after all—to meet with Monsieur V. He could arrange that.
Something beat inside him like a bird flapping its wings against the bars of its cage. Why was he unsettled? It was what she wanted; it was what Monsieur V wanted. Everyone was happy.
Except Alex didn’t feel happy. He turned the horses down another street, slowing to take the curve. As he did, he glanced over his shoulder, searching for signs of pursuit. Monsieur V wanted to visit with Lucy alone. Alex must ensure
that her pesky chaperone hadn’t followed them. It would take longer, but thus far, Lucy hadn’t complained.
She glanced at him. “Are you all right? You don’t seem yourself.”
He flicked the ribbons. “I’m focused on driving. It’s dark. It needs my full attention.”
She touched his shoulder. “Are you certain? You’ve been…quiet.”
That touch rippled through him. Warm, like the press of her body. For a moment, he forgot why he was bringing her to Monsieur V. He didn’t want to. Then the itch to obey had returned and he’d removed himself before her presence had caused him to forget his task. Monsieur V wanted an introduction, a visit. He must do that.
Satisfied that no one had followed them from her townhouse, he turned toward their true destination. If Lucy noticed the winding path, she didn’t comment on it.
They passed a street lamp. It lit up the contours of her face and her glimmering eyes, fixed upon him.
“I’ve been busy,” he repeated. “I need focus.”
Another woman might have obeyed the warning in his tone to remain silent while he navigated the darkened streets. Lucy, on the other hand, transferred her hand to his leg. There wasn’t as much fabric between them, there. Only his breeches.
“Alex, talk to me. Why are you acting so strange?”
“I’m not.”
His mind was like a pool of water. Or perhaps more like ice, the surface frozen over to present a pristine reflective sheet. Thoughts slid away from that surface, none finding a grasp.
“Alex, please.” She sounded annoyed. “If you’re going to shut me out, I don’t see the point in this. You said you wanted to make up for the way you’ve treated me.”
“And I shall. I’m giving you what you wanted.”
“And what is that?”
“You’ll see.”
She didn’t accept that answer. She turned in the seat to face him. “Where are we going?”
Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5) Page 20